


Pipe Dream

by Snowjob



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluffy, Funny, M/M, Neighbors, like literally fluffy, or at least I think it's funny, someone give me tags to put here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8322247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowjob/pseuds/Snowjob
Summary: Prompt: “My shower is broken but I’ve got a date tonight could I possibly use your shower please?” “Oh sure (neighbor that I’ve been crushing on for the past six months) of course you can use my shower to get ready for your date (fuck fuckfuck)”





	

“PIZZA!” Stiles shouts at the knock on the door to exactly no one. It’s a ritual his dad had drilled into him before he moved into the city - never let them know you’re alone. It’s worked so far, three years on his own and he hasn’t been murdered once. He hauls himself up from the couch, rooting around in his pocket for a twenty before flinging the door open to reveal someone who is _definitely_ not the pizza guy.

“Sorry, you have company, I should-” Stiles’ insanely hot neighbor is dripping wet, white shirt clinging obscenely to his upper body, showing _everything_ , every cut of muscle and glorious chest hair that Stiles is _dying_ to run his fingers through. It takes him a good five seconds for his brain to reboot and realize the man is about to turn back to his own apartment, likely thinking he’s interrupting something, before Stiles instinctively reaches out and grabs the man’s wrist, stilling his retreat. He’s still not entirely sure what’s going on, but like hell is he going to turn down this gift from the universe. 

“No, it’s just something I do, to scare people. Wait that doesn’t sound right. My dad’s a sheriff. I’m Stiles.” And seriously? For six months he’s been looking for an opportunity to talk to Han (short for Hot Ass Neighbor) and _this_ is what he comes up with? He grimaces inwardly and a little outwardly, shuffling his shoulders a bit, and that’s when he realizes he’s still got Han’s wrist in his hand. “Oh fuck!” He shouts, dropping it like it’s hot and really he should just moonwalk it back into his apartment but he still doesn’t know why Han is at his doorway in a puddle of his own making, and that’s the kind of thing you have to stick around to hear. 

“Derek,” Han, or apparently _Derek_ grunts, noticeably not extending a hand to shake and really he can’t be blamed, seeing as how he just got his wrist back. Stiles nods, lips clamped in an effort to keep him from saying anything else stupid before finding out what brings this Adonis to his side of the hall. But Ha- _Derek_ (damn that’s gonna take some getting used to) just stands there, looking uncomfortable and a little constipated if Stiles is totally honest, but no less earth shatteringly gorgeous. There’s still water dripping from his hair, running in rivulets down his corded neck to be absorbed by his shirt. Stiles has been caught in the rain enough times while running after a bus to know that there’s nothing more miserable than being stuck in wet clothes. He should just very calmly and noncreepily invite him in to dry off and change clothes.

He practices the line four times in his head before opening his mouth.

“We should get you out of those clothes.” _No! No! Bad Stiles, that is_ not _what we rehearsed!_ “I mean, ah, do you want a towel? Something dry? To wear?” He opens the door a little wider and moves back, and is genuinely shocked when Derek takes a step into the apartment. There’s only a moment to lament his pile of dirty dishes in the sink and general disarray of, well, everything, before remembering he’d offered the man a towel. “Come on in, I’m just gonna…” he jerks his thumb back in the direction of the bathroom before hurrying across the room and around the corner. At least he’d gotten his laundry done yesterday, thank god for small mercies. He grabs a clean towel from the cabinet, checks out his reflection with mild disdain, and heads back to the entryway. 

He finds Derek exactly where he’d left him, only a few steps further in and the door shut behind him. 

“Thanks,” he says, accepting the towel and immediately wiping off his face and running it over his hair. Stiles nods, even though the guy is clearly not looking, and lets his eyes roam a bit, skating up and down his frame, taking in his low-slung, waterlogged jeans and clingy white tee, bare toes flexing on the lightly damp carpet. Surprisingly enough it’s the toes he can’t look away from, curling and uncurling slightly, dark hair dusting over the knuckles, veins and bone structure standing out against the pale skin. There’s something about bare feet that’s so... domestic. Vulnerable. 

“Sorry about the floor,” Stiles is startled out of his staring, looking up to assure it’s no problem when the words get caught in his throat. Derek’s eyes are wide and clear, hair soft and fuzzy looking and sticking every which way like a baby duck’s. Stiles clenches his hands to his side to keep from reaching out and petting him.

“S’fine,” he chokes out, “really, totally. But, um, why are you soaking wet? And shoeless?” Derek grips the towel a little harder where it’s draped around his neck.

“I was getting ready to take a shower, and the pipes burst on me.”

“Shower at six on a Friday? What, you got a hot date or something?” Stiles asks cheekily, and immediately regrets it as Derek nods, eyes cast down.

“Yeah, supposed to meet her at 7.” Stiles’ heart crumples a little bit, but he musters up a smile that doesn’t come close to meeting his eyes.

“Well, hey, you’ve got plenty of time still, and my shower’s always free. Unless I’m in it. Which I won’t be, cause you will be, and… I’m gonna go get you a dry towel.” He hurries back into the bathroom, chastising himself for feeling heartbroken when these are literally the first words he’s ever shared with the guy. It was a long shot that he’d be interested in men, and even more so that he’d be interested in _Stiles_ , but it had been fun to imagine. Especially late at night. “Shit.”

“If you don’t have anymore towels-” Stiles jumps at the voice, heart pounding through his chest as he flies back from the cabinet, arms flailing a bit until he manages to catch himself on the edge of the tub. 

“Geezuz, wear a bell or some…” he trails off as looks up to find Derek shirtless, standing in the bathroom doorway like every filthy porn fantasy that’s flitted through Stiles’ mind since his sexual awakening. According to the script in his head Derek should be taking two steps forward, hoisting Stiles up with ease, and pressing him against the wall; kissing him with a ferocity and gentleness of a mother polar bear. But like, a sexy mother polar bear. Who’s male. And human. And the metaphor kind of got away from him but the point is the kiss would be all encompassing, everything he’d ever dreamed of in a kiss. Followed by skillful and rigorous wall sex. 

“Stiles?” He shakes his head, gripping the lip of the tub to keep his balance as he comes back to reality, where Derek is still just standing in the doorway, wet shirt dangling from his hands, damp towel draped carelessly (aka: seductively) over one shoulder. Looking not at all like he’s seconds away from fucking him into the wall. Well damn. 

“So here’s my shower,” Stiles says, patting the possibly-faux porcelain, and trying to mentally remind himself that Derek is literally an hour away from going on a date. With a woman. Probably his extremely gorgeous girlfriend. Now is _not_ the time to be fantasizing sexy encounters. Derek is apparently polite enough to not roll his eyes and just nods, glancing quickly around the small bathroom. Stiles stands suddenly, and starts to leave before doubling back and pulling a towel out of the cabinet.

“Here, and uh, be careful, it goes from freezing to boiling lava hot in the space of two millimeters. Literally. I measured. But I etched it,” he pushes the towel into Derek’s hands before flinging the curtain back to show him the faucet, “so just keep the handle here,” he points to the rough scratch in the burnished nickel, “and you should be okay.” He turns his head to find Derek much, much closer than he’d anticipated, and is extremely proud of himself for not yelping or smacking anything. He just takes a steadying gulp and tries to slow his heart down. From a distance the guy is ridiculously good looking, but up close he is _breathtaking_. Flawless skin, perfect stubble, and his eyes… god _damn_ , a guy could get lost in eyes like that. 

“Stiles?”

Just like that.

“Right, sorry, I’ll get out of your way. Just, uh, good luck, in there.” He scowls inwardly as he backs up and hurries out of the bathroom before Derek can say anything. He flings himself onto the couch, pressing play on the DVR and turning up the volume in an attempt to drown out the sound of the shower. It’s all in vain though, as the walls are apparently as paper thin as the neighboring walls, and Stiles can hear _everything_. The turn of the nozzle, the squeak of the pipes, the yelp as Derek undoubtedly went too far (or not far enough) with the handle. Jesus this is torture. 

“He’s getting ready for a date, he’s getting ready for a date, he’s getting ready for a date,” Stiles says over and over as he flips through his recordings to find something that will help him take his mind of the current situation. Current situation being the most beautiful man in the world naked in his shower, using his soap and his shampoo, hands rubbing all over that glorious body-

“Oh my gooooooood,” he groans, slumping into the couch and pulling a pillow over his face. This is the literal worst. He should just leave, seek refuge in the coffee shop down the street until Derek is dried off and fully dressed and out of his life forever. Except for those random hallway moments, which will now be one hundred times more awkward because Stiles knows his name and what he looks like without a shirt and how vulnerable his bare toes are-

“ _Oh shit... oh fuck_...”

\- and apparently that he likes to jerk off in his neighbor’s shower. 

“Dammit, now I have to move,” Stiles groans, face still under the pillow, hand inching down his stomach of its own accord, brushing against the growing bulge in his pants. He tilts an ear toward the bathroom, trying to catch more of the illicit sounds that will likely fuel his solo sessions for the rest of forever, fingers popping open his button and sliding underneath his pants. He’ll start looking for a new apartment after he gets off. 

The shower stops suddenly, and Stiles grumbles, still half-hard and annoyingly aroused. He adjusts himself before zipping back up, trying to go for casual as the bathroom door opens and steamy air comes billowing out. Derek follows, and _shit_ , now there’s bare calves to go with those toes and his whole everything is glistening and Stiles is effectively ruined as no one is ever going to come close to this. His heart beats traitorously loud as Derek makes his way across the room, one hand holding his discarded clothes, the other clutching the towel around his waist for dear life. He’s shooting furtive glances around the apartment, and Stiles can take a guess as to what he’s looking for. 

“6:45 dude, if you don’t have to spend much time on your hair you could still make it.” Derek’s eyebrows furrow a bit.

“What?”

“C’mon,” Stiles leans forward on the couch, “your date? With your girlfriend?” 

“No, I don’t - it’s just a set up, someone my sister works with. I don’t have a girlfriend.” Stiles’ brows shoot up. Was that an opening? It sounded like an opening...

“Oh, I… me neither. Or a boyfriend, for full disclosure.” Derek actually smiles a little shyly at that, and Stiles’ heart does somersaults.

“Yeah? Well that’s… that’s good to know.” Okay, now his heart is doing full on Olympic routines, cause that’s flirting. Stiles is being actively flirted with by the man previously known as Han recently known as Derek and currently wearing nothing but a towel in Stiles kitchen/living room. God is real.

“So,” his heart is seriously about to beat out of his chest, “how important is it that you make this date tonight?” Derek’s lips quirk at that, tips of his ears going pink, and dammit, Stiles is already in so much trouble.

“My sister’ll be pissed at me, but I’ll manage. Let me just...” Derek looks down, as if just now remembering he’s wearing nothing but a towel in an apartment that’s not his, “I should probably go get dressed.” Stiles is about to say something snexy (snarky and sexy), but in a moment of divine intervention decides to just nod. Cause he’s not looking for a quick and dirty fling, like he may have fantasized about six months ago. Something tells him this man is more than just a booty call, and he prides himself on his intuition too much to turn on it now. Derek smiles a little at the nod, which makes Stiles’ stomach swoop, and goes to open the door.

And stops dead in his tracks. 

“ _Oh, wow_ ,” Stiles sits up at the sound of a voice at the door, “ _I wasn’t really expecting… holy shit, I can see why he never let you get the door before_ …” Derek clutches his towel a little tighter and throws a look back at Stiles, who had completely forgotten he’d ordered pizza about 40 minutes ago. He scrambles off the couch and quickly edges between Derek and the ogling pizza guy.

“Dude could you not,” he mutters, handing over the twenty and grabbing the box before the guy could drop it as he tries to get another look at the glory that is half-naked Derek Hale. Not that Stiles can blame him, but still, a little respect?

“Sorry man, I just always assumed you were faking company to not seem so lonely. But… fuck… I get it.”

“Okay, you’re done, thanks,” Stiles pulls back into the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind him. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” But Derek doesn’t look fine, standing a bit awkwardly in the kitchen. Stiles looks at the pizza box, then at the man across the room. 

“You wanna grab a pair of my sweats and just hang out here for a bit?” Derek looks from the towel to the pizza box to the door, and back again.

“Can I use your phone to text my sister?”

 

One shrill FaceTime chat later (Laura insisted on proof of life, then cooed over how cute Stiles was and applauded Derek for finally getting up the nerve to talk to his cute neighbor, “You think I’m cute?” “Dammit Laura!”) Stiles is finally enjoying his pizza, watching the Mets, and cuddled up next to his neighbor who he’s quickly finding out is so much more than just a hot ass.

It’s pretty much perfect. 

“We’re cheering for the Dodgers, right?”

Eh, perfect is overrated.

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me at [little-werewolf-oven](http://little-werewolf-oven.tumblr.com) on tumblr and throw prompts at me. Dis bitch needs to write.


End file.
